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Script of the sublime bond

Wrapped in the creases of the sheet,
Lay the melting moments on bed,
Of the previous night,
When romance drizzled outside,
And emotions within,
The cool morning breeze,
Sneaking through the window slit,
Smiling at her,
As she glistens in the sunlight.

Each crease a witness
to their story,
Of the brewing passion,
Her shy love,
And humble submission,
Of tender touch,
silken drapes, wine glasses,
And his tantalizing hold,
The creamy darkness,
Lit by dim lights,
Its silence, paused by
Resonating heartbeats.

As the sky roared,
Drew the silver lining,
Beyond bodily selves,
Souls united,
Promises reverberated,
Fears buried,
Happiness embraced,
Tears rolled down,
Script of the sublime bond,
Left an indelible impression.

© Copyright \O~O/ Salvwi Prasad [POETICbug]


I am , Poetry

I am a thought,
A rhythmic waterfall of words,
Or a free verse,
I am a loud inspiration,
A subtle tribute,
An undying spirit,
The friend of solitude,
I am the zeal,
That sings for change,
That prays ,
I am a patriot's strength,
A lover's fate,
A mother's lullaby,
I am happiness of beginning,
Sometimes sorrow of the end,
I praise,
I dare,
I invoke care,
You write, recite my glory,
I am, Poetry.

{ I turned 50 poems old. I could think of nothing but a tribute to her.}

© Copyright \O~O/ Salvwi Prasad [POETICbug]


You, my FRIEND

The story of me,
A bag full of smiles and wee,
Not all could read it through,
Found hard to believe it to be true,
The one that touched the end,
Was you , only you my dear friend.

That reassuring hand to hold,

To cross the bridge over worries old,
And gift of the magic key,
Lock thy past, beckoning future to see,
The one that helped my path to wend,
Was you , only you my dear friend.

A heap of failures to clean,

Crippled confidence and "hope" so mean,
Broken pieces of dreams to gather,
Not to throw, glue them rather,
To soak my tears, a shoulder to lend,
Was you, only you my dear friend.

© Copyright \O~O/ Salvwi Prasad [POETICbug]



Live for a while

I wish for the open blue sky above,
Not the ceiling of boxed lights,
A loud desperate cry of silence remains,
Over the ruins of my dead freedom,
A beeping system,
And this grayed monotony,
Even breathing sounds mechanical,
With a tiny soul shouting within,
O! You the little bird outside,
Flapping the wings that I need,
To tan in the sunshine,
Breathe and Live for a while.


{As I am sitting in my office doing my daily mundane tasks I look above the tiled ceiling. I desire for the freedom of my creative soul through this poem.}

© Copyright Salvwi Prasad [POETICbug] 

Published in the MAY 2013 issue of e-magazine named
TAMARIND RICE.[Page 2 - top right corner]


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All posts of this blog by Salvwi Prasad is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.5 India License